Tomorrow
by Bassoonator
Summary: With that, we grabbed our rifles and climbed the barricade. We fought for them - every single dead student and soldier. And though we did not win or even survive, that day, we fought for the tomorrow that nobody would get.


**OOC**: Be prepared. Angsty. I hope you enjoy, and please review to let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer**: Unfortunately, I do not own Les Miserables. The dialogue between Eponine and Marius is a mix of A Little Fall Of Rain, Ce n'est rien and the death in the brick.

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I'm not sure when I realised my death was near certain. I certainly hadn't realised when planning the attack with Enjolras. I must definitely hadn't realised when I'd been given a rifle. I had a couple of clues as to when I realised.

The first was when I watched Feuilly get shot from above. I watched him die.

The second was when I was handed a child's lifeless body. The familiar face of little Gavroche looked up with me with unforgiving eyes.

I couldn't quite decide which had more of an impact on me. I felt hollow, empty, withdrawn. But I had to focus, or I would be dead with in seconds.

These soldiers had no mercy. They were robots, programmed to kill. They outnumbered us by dozens. There was no chance we would win.

The gun shots slowly diminished in numbers, as night neared. Tension was still high in the air. Joly, bless him, was moving the lifeless bodies into the empty cafe where they would finally rest in peace. He tried his best to attend to those barely alive, but he lost more than he saved and as the day carried on, the after effects of it showed on his face.

I sat beside the pale-faced medicine student who sat, slouched, his head in his hands.

"I lost so many tonight," he whispered, brokenly. "I couldn't fix them." His shoulders began shaking.

What could I say? I put an arm around his shoulder as he cried away his tears, being no more than support.

Enjolras had been in his element a few hours ago - fighting for his country and for his men. He was naive though - he hadn't known the feeling of loss as he lost his friends. He hadn't known the feeling of doubt, knowing everything yourself into was lost among the bodies.

The students slowly sat around Joly and I, joining to make a circle while we took turns taking watch. The night was silent. None of us spoke, except for the drunken slur of Grantaire cursing himself for not being a better fighter. For not being stronger. He was drinking his pain away.

I, myself, felt nothing. I couldn't think of anything else. Cosette was out of my mind - I didn't want to relate her to these horrible hours. Not now, not ever. I wanted her face to be the face I thought of right before I passed over. Tonight, was a night of suffering. I'd killed several, and each and every face felt embarked in my memory as they opened their mouths a little wider in shock, before falling back into the barricade.

They might've had families. Friends. Parents. Pets. They might have had a future, and I'd ended it. But then I thought of the cafe upstairs, where our lost men lay. Students, boys, barely out of the cradle. We were fighting. We were battling. We were dying. Our numbers had halved easily. I was unsure if we'd ever see day light. My eyes slowly circled around the remaining men, recognising all of their faces except one.

I slowly named each in my mind, wanting to remember what their smile looked like and what their laugh had sounded like, instead of what their sobs sounded like and what their tear stained faced looked like. Enjolras first. He was not sitting; he was leaning against a wooden post, arms crossed over his chest, his face pale and guilt ridden. I imagined him as he lectured his men on how they would approach the rebellion, how they would fight. His eyes ablaze with passion, never a smile on his face but always clear enjoyment plastered in his eyes.

Combeferre, softly spoken but brave, the man who was staring into the darkness with tears leaking from his eyes. He was the one who stood beside Enjolras when convincing people to join in the battle. He was the one who was always quiet but when the time came, voiced his opinion with out hesitation. I watched as this innocent man crumbled, and somehow, I just couldn't imagine him smiling or laughing.

Courfeyrac sat beside him, hand on Combeferre's shoulder. He was the glue - the one that kept the group together. His face was straight - no emotion strayed. His eyes were dull, however. He had been the one dreading this day, the one preparing for the pain. He, unlike the rest of us, had no shock from losing his friends. He had expected it. As I moved further along the men, their gloomy faces, it became harder to imagine them happy. It became harder to imagine them at all. Sitting in the cafe, laughing over a round of drinks seemed like a long time ago.

I met the eyes of a boy across from me. He was small - frail and lanky and he had a long fringe tucked under his hat. He was a stranger, but a familiar stranger at that. Something about him shouted out to me. This boy met my eyes - dark brown eyes that had known of pain all his life. This boy showed no emotion. After several moments, he looked down, avoiding my gaze.

"Marius, can you swap?" Enjolras' voice broke the silence. I looked up to see him pointing at a drowsing Joly, taking watch. Perhaps sleep would do him some good. I nodded, patting him on the shoulder as he climbed down the barricade, eyes heavy lidded. He didn't even bother to try and hide his exhaustion, as he sat in the darkness, a little way away from the rest. I climbed through the furniture which created our barricade and watched.

I could faintly see a small bonfire on their side. I could hear their laughs and them chattering away. This was nothing to them - they had lost few lives and it hadn't affected them as harshly. Anger rose in me.

Gavroche, Feuilly, Bahorel, Jean, even Lesgle. Dozens of students, dead. Most, I could not name because Enjolras had gone around the entire town looking for recruitments. Most, I had not known. But not one of them deserved to die. I realised I was being a hypocrite, but those soldiers were _laughing. _Laughing and going at it like they had just come home from a great day of trade.

They had murdered innocent people. And they were laughing. I had murdered innocent people, and I would hold that to my grave. In the thought process, I hadn't noticed a shadow moving closer and closer, armed with a rifle. In my thought process, I hadn't noticed a shower behind me moving closer, also armed. It was then the soldier jumped up from his spot below the barricade and held his gun out, almost at the top of the barricade. I was frozen. How had he appeared? How had I not focused? It was then that he struck his gun out, finger on the trigger.

I felt myself be pushed backwards, tumbling into the barricade, but not completely off of it. I looked up quickly enough to see the familiar stranger put their hand in front of the barrel and get shot. I watched the bullet go through his hand and into his chest. I watched him fall backwards, off of the barricade and escape into the darkness. I thrust myself up, shooting the soldier seconds before he had even turned. He fell back instantly.

I jumped off of the barricade, a terrible feeling coming over me. I looked around for the stranger, but he was nowhere in sight. It was when I walked past a sleeping Joly, that I found him - or, well, no longer a him - holding their chest a few metres from Joly. It was then I recognised the long, dirty, dark hair.

I was no longer staring at a familiar stranger. I was staring at my best friend - the one person who had always been there as support when I had never noticed her. What made matters worse was staring at my best friend dying. I was watching her life spill from her chest, as her unforgiving wound threw up the remains of her body.

Worse than that, perhaps, was that I was the reason.

"Eponine!" The girl looked up, eyes unfocusing. Her white chemise was stained blood red. I ran to her - what else could I do? -, nearly tripping over Joly in the process and reached for her.

"Monsieur?" Eponine asked, seemingly blinded by pain. Her tiny body shook uncontrollably, spasms moving her every so often.

"It is I, Marius, indeed," I answered, kneeling beside her and reaching for her hands which she clawing at. A gasp escaped my mouth when I took the hand that had been shot. I could literally see through it.

This my fault. Completely my fault. But why was Eponine here? The young street urchin surely shouldn't be in the middle of a battle.

"What have you done?" I whispered, feeling my body collapse. I couldn't lose Eponine - not her. The one person I hadn't worried about, thinking she was safely in the streets. I hadn't spared a single thought on her that night. I had thought she was safe. Anywhere. Just not here, dying in my arms.

"It is nothing," Eponine lied smoothly. This was the farthermost thing from nothing possible. She was dying. She had saved my life. Why? Why couldn't she let me die?

"It is not nothing!" I cried out, softly. "Why didn't you just let me get shot, Eponine? You didn't deserve this!" I felt my voice shake. It was when she opened her mouth to speak, but a small cry of pain escaped that I put my arms around her and pulled her to me. She couldn't die. If I just held her, she would leave. Of course she would. Not Eponine... not like Gavroche. Gavroche had laid dead in my arms. But Eponine wouldn't, certainly.

"I'm the only one who's leaving, Monsieur. You must say here," Eponine whispered, her dark eyes filled with prolonged tears. "I'll be absent at your wedding. I'm sorry." It was then that I felt myself collapse into her. My face in her hair, I cried.

"I do much so doubt I'll have a wedding after the things I've seen tonight, 'Ponine."

"To love is to see the face of God, Monsieur." Eponine's body spasmed once more, before she slowly and painfully lifted her good hand into her pocket. She then held up a small envelope. "Here's your wedding gift... a few months in advance."

I recognised Cosette's handwriting, signing my name, immediately. I shoved it in my pocket quickly.

"You will live, 'Ponine. A hundred years. You won't die tonight." I told her, barely breathing. She too, barely breathed. Perhaps for different reasons.

"Promise me," she looked up at me, her face tired. She had been through the wars, my Eponine. Now she had to sleep.

"I promise," I answered quickly.

"Promise to kiss my brow when I pass," she smiled, sadly. "If it is not too much."

Eponine, the girl who had protected me. The girl who had saved my life. The girl who had been more than a saviour to me, was asking me to kiss her brow when she died. Only if it wasn't too much.

I felt tears spill from my eyes. She deserved so much more than that. It was with out thinking, that I leaned down and pressed my lips against hers. I felt a smile on her lips, and as the bitter sweet kiss ended and I rose up, she was gone with the others. She lay lifeless in my arms, with a small smile on her face.

Instinctively, I kissed her brow, before holding onto her body into the night. I had no doubt in my mind, that I would join her soon.

It was a few hours later, when all the tears were cried and all my heart strings pulled, that Joly rose from his slumber to attend to Eponine. He carried her away, like a doll. I stared after him, watching as another body joined the dead.

Enjolras walked over to me, sharing a grieving expression.

"Is it worth it?" I whispered, choked up as memories of Eponine passed through my mind. "Was any of it worth it?"

Enjolras was silent for a long time before he answered with his deep bass voice. "I don't know."

The night carried on. Eventually, when we thought we could rest for it had been quiet the last few hours, we got cannoned. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were caught in the blow. They are on longer with us.

Sooner or later, it was just Grantaire, Enjolras, Joly and I, standing in the middle of blood stained bodies and guns.

"Do we run?" Joly asked softly.

"Or do we fight?" I added, eyes on Enjolras.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire for the answer. The drunken fool took one last gulp of alcohol before throwing the bottle at the barricade.

He smiled sadly. "Our friends didn't die in vain. It is our turn to prove that to them."

With that, we grabbed our rifles and climbed the barricade. We fought for them - every single dead student and soldier. And though we did not win or even survive, that day, we fought for the tomorrow that nobody would get.


End file.
